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Baughman 
His  Wife's  Place 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 


$  lawmaker 


Written  by  Students  of  the  University  of  North  Dakota 

as    Glass    Work    in    the    Course    in 

DRAMATIC  COMPOSITION 


Edited  by 
FRANZ  RICKABY 

aaiataiit  Professor  of  English 
University  of  North  Dakota 


No.  4 


HIS  WIFE'S  PLACE 


Series  E 


(An  Adaptation  of  the  Story  by  Clarence  Buddington   Kelland) 

by 
Ruth  L.  Baughman 


Published 

by 

THE  DAKOTA  PLAY  MAKERS 

of  the 
University  of  North  Dakota 


University  of  North  Dakota 


The  Playmaker  Plays  are  copyrighted,  1920,  by  The  Dakota 
Playmakers,  of  the  University  of  North  Dakota. 

There  is  for  the  present  no  royalty  fee  attached  to  the  produc 
tion  of  these  Plays.  The  Playmakers  ask,  however,  that  in  the  case 
of  every  production  suitable  public  recognition  be  given  the  Uni 
versity  and  the  writer  of  the  play. 

The  story  of  which  this  play  is  an  adaptation,  is  used  by  per 
mission. 

Copies  of  the  Plays  may  be  obtained,  at  the  rate  of  fifty 
cents  each,  from  the  Dakota  Playmakers,  University,  North  Dakota. 


35-03 


THE  PLAYMAKER  PLAYS 

A  GENERAL  FOREWORD 

As  indicated  on  the  cover  of  this  pamphlet,  the  Playmakei 
Plays  represent  the  collaboration  of  the  Dakota  Playmakers,  the 
dramatic  organization  at  the  University  of  North  Dakota,  and  the 
University  course  in  Dramatic  Composition,  offered  first  by  Pro 
fessor  Frederick  H.  Koch  in  1915,  and  for  the  past  two  years  by 
the  editor  of  this  series. 

These  plays  make  no  pretentions  to  surpassing  excellence  in  the 
various  elements  of  dramatic  writing.  They  are  merely  little  ex 
periments  done  as  laboratory  work  in  a  course  which  has  as  its  chief 
purpose,  not  the  immediate  fashioning  of  playwrights,  so  much  as  the 
steady  recruiting  of  the  ranks  of  those  who  can  appreciate  drama  from 
each  of  the  several  angles  of  appreciation. 

The  purpose  behind  publication  in  this  case  is  the  supplying  of 
high-school  societies  and  other  amateur  groups  in  the  territory  which 
this  University  serves,  with  these  examples  of  native  drama.  This 
purpose  had  its  birth  in  frequent  queries,  from  outsiders  who  had 
seen  or  heard  of  the  University  productions,  or  from  graduated 
Playmakers  who  had  taken  part  in  them,  as  to  whether  or  not  the 
plays,  were  available  for  general  use.  They  were  not.  Quite  com 
monly  there  was  no  extant  copy  of  the  play  in  question.  It  will  be 
impossible  to  include  in  this  series  any  of  the  plays  written  previous 
to  1918-19,  among  them  some  excellent  ones,  because  the  manu 
scripts  are  not  now  available. 

It  is  a  source  of  warm  satisfaction  to  the  editor  that  literally 
scores  of  citizens  of  this  state  will  feel  a  deep  and  living  interest  in 
these  plays,  for  having  either  written  them  or  acted  in  them,  or  for 
bearing  some  peculiar  relationship  to  those  who  did.  These  are 
truly  "our  little  plays";  we  conceived  them,  and  we  have  acted  them. 
They  are  not  masterpieces,  but  they  are  clean,  and  they  have  enter 
tained  our  neighbors  and  friends.  Some  of  them  picture  North 
Dakota  men  and  women  in  the  business  of  living;  all  of  them  repre 
sent  the  North  Dakota  student  in  the  business  of  adapting  and 
building. 

To  the  cause  of  Native  American  Drama  the  Playmakers  dedi 
cate  their  plays,  and  bespeak  for  them  the  attention  and  interest  of 
all  who  like  to  hear  a  story  and  take  sides  in  a  conflict,  and  who  at 
the  same  time  believe  in  beginnings.  Encouragement  alone  will 
beget  more  and  better  plays.  For  those  who  would  be  too  harshly 
critical  we  might  quote  a  line  from  one  of  our  earlier  plays,  the 
words  of  an  old  Scandinavian  mother  to  her  newly  returned  super 
cilious  and  over-educated  son:  "Vel,  Alf,  dis  is  all  ve  got!" 

F.  R. 


STAGE  PLOT 

'  '"Mtt&r  » 


CHARACTERS:  CARTER  PA  VAN,  A  returned  army  officer. 
MARY  PAYAN,  His  wife. 
MR.  HENRY  SEARS,  A  bank  president  and  old 

friend  of  the  Payans. 
A  MAID. 

4 

SCENE:     Living  room  of  the  Payan  apartment. 
TIME:     1918.     Five  o'clock  one  winter  afternoon. 


His  WIFE'S  PLACE  was  presented  by  The  Playmakers  on  their 
Play-Stage  at  the  University  on  the  evenings  of  April  15  and 
16,  1920,  with  the  following  cast  of  characters: 

CARTER  PAYAN    RICHARD  L.   BAUGHMAN 

MARY  PAYAN    RUTH  L.  BAUGHMAN 

MR.  SEARS WILLIAM  HAGEN 

A  MAID  .  ..EDNA  HESKETH 


HIS  WIFE'S  PLACE 

The  rising  curtain  discloses  the  living  room  of  a  richly  and 
tastefully  furnished  apartment  in  New  York  City.  There  is  a 
draped  archway  at  the  center  back  which  opens  obviously  into  a  hall. 
On  the  walls  are  a  number  of  good  pictures.  Several  comfortable 
chairs,  a  beautiful  rug,  a  davenport  before  the  lighted  gas  grate  att 
the  right ,  and  floor  lamp  near  the  upper  end  of  the  davenport.  To 
the  left  is  a  large  library  table  and  a  leather-upholstered  armchair. 
On  the  table  is  the  button  of  ait  electric  bell.  There  is  a  single 
door  at  the  left. 

CARTER  enters  through  the  center  doorway,  tall,  good-looking, 
but  rather  arrogant  appearing.  He  is  at  present  distinctly  out  of 
sorts  and  looks  as  though  he  not  only  had  his  feathers  ruffled  the 
wrong  way  but  also  as  though  he  might  soon  become  distinctly  angry. 
He  takes  off  his  coat,  hat  and  gloves,  at  the  same  time  looking  the 
room  over  with  a  sneer  on  his  face.  He  examines  a  couple  of  pictures 
on  the  wall,  touches  the  hangings  contemptuously,  throws  his  things 
on  a  chair  up-stage  mid  sits  on  davenport  before  the  fireplace. 
Clenches  hands,  resting  his  head  on  them,  and  stares  grimly  into  the 
fire. 

MARY  enters  from  the  left.  She  is  a  pretty,  capable  looking 
little  lady  in  a  business  woman's  garb;  a  modish  suit  skirt  and  a 
simple  white  blouse.  She  seems  both  sweet  and  sensible.  She  goes 
enthusiastically  toward  CARTER.  ..Speaks.)  Oh,  Carter,  I  beat  you 
home  tonight.  It's  been  the  best  day!  You'll  never  guess  the  big 
surprise  I  have  for  you.  (CARTER  doesn't  respond  in  any  way.)  Why, 
Carter,  what's  the  matter?  (Goes  closer  to  him.  Rings  for  the  maid.) 
Aren't  you  well,  dear?  (CARTER  still  doesn't  respond.  Enter  MAID. 
MARY  indicates  that  she  is  to  remove  CARTER'S  wraps.  Exit  MAID. 
MARY  goes  toward  CARTER  solicitously.)  What  have  you  been  doing 
with  yourself  all  day? 

CARTER — (Shortly)  Thinking. 

MARY — Did  you  see  Mr.  Whitney  this  morning? 

CARTER — (More  shortly)  Yes. 

MARY — What  did  he  say? 

CARTER — (Bitterly)  Offered  me  my  old  place — at  twenty-two 
hundred  and  fifty. 

MARY — (With  enthusiasm)  Oh  splendid!  That's  a  raise,  isn't 
it.  So  many  of  the  returned  men  are  having  to  take  less,  or  are  even 
finding  it  hard  to  get  places  at  all. 


CARTER — (Resentfully)  Splendid!  Anybody  would  think  I  was 
your  half-witted  brother  that  you  were  praising  for  being  able  to  earn 
a  quarter  mowing  a  lawn. 

MARY — (Surprised  at  his  tone)  Why  Carter!  It  is  splendid.  I 
mean  it.  Between  the  two  of  us  we're  earning  over  $6,000!  Why 
we're  rich.  And  when  I  tell  you  about  the  wonderful  surprise — 

CARTER — (Rising  and  confronting  her  suddenly)  Mary,  do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  are  going  on  working?  Do  you  think  I  shall 
let  you  go  on  working? 

MARY — (Bewildered  and  hurt)  I  don't  see  why  not.  There's 
no  reason  why  I  shouldn't.  There  are  just  the  two  of  us — 

CARTER — (Breaking  in  harshly)  Just  the  two  of  us  can  live  on 
what  I  earn. 

MARY — Of  course  we  could,  but  the  way  I  have  it  planned — 

CARTER — Yes,  the  way  you  have  it  planned  you'd  have  me  the 
laughing  stock  of  all  the  men.  (Changing  his  voice  to  imitate  his 
conception  of  the  mincing  voice  of  gossip)  "There's  Carter  Payan. 
pretty  soft  for  him,  what?  Wife  earns  twice  what  he  does.  Won 
der  how  much  she  allows  him  for  spending  money?" — That's  the 
kind  of  thing  everybody'd  be  saying  about  me. 

MARY — That's  perfectly  silly,  Carter,  and  vou  knov,   it  is. 

CARTER — I  know  it  isn't.  Why,  every  man  of  the  old  gang  I  saw 
today  said  practically  that  very  thing.  Old  man  Summers  comes 
up,  slaps  me  on  the  back,  tells  me  how  glad  he  is  to  see  me  safe 
home  and  then  says,  "Just  saw  your  wife  over  at  the  office.  Pretty 
soft,  old  scout,  pretty  soft!  It  isn't  the  first  cost  of  a  wife  with 
most  of  us  that  bothers;  it's  the  upkeep;  but  you've  solved  it  Car 
ter.  Great  stuff !  Get  married  and  two  can  earn  more  than  one. 
If  either  one  of  you  has  to  stay  home  and  wash  the  egg  off  the 
breakfast  plates,  it'll  have  to  be  you.  If  you  aren't  careful  Mary'll 
be  the  best  man  in  the  family." — That's  what  I've  got  all  day.  It's 
what  they're  all  saying  and  thinking  about  me  already. 

MARY — (Evenly)  Nonsense;  Mr.  Summers  is  an  old,  old  friend 
of  both  of  u,s,  and  you  know  he  was  only  teasing  you. 

CARTER — (Warmly)  Teasing  nothing.  He  was  saying  what 
he  believed. 

MARY — (Nettled  by  his  attitude,  speaks  defiantly)  Well,  what 
of  it? 

CARTER — (Angrily)  Just  this.  You  quit  your  job  tomorrow  and 
stay  home  where  a  woman  belongs. 

MARY — (Taking  herself  firmly  in  hand)  Now,  Carter,  try  to  be 
reasonable.  It  isn't  sensible  to  throw  away  all  that  money  just 
for  your  silly  pride.  You  know  that  I'd  rather  be  in  my  home  tend 
ing  to  a  woman's  duties,  her  house  and  her  children.  You  know  I 
want  all  that,  but  it  can't  be  until  we  are  able  to  suitably  provide  for 
a  home  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word.  I  want  my  children  to  grow 
up  with  all  the  education  and  advantages  that  make  for  a  broad  and 
beautiful  life  untouched  by  the  restrictions  that  poverty  im- 


poses.  The  fact  that  I'm  getting*  more  money  than  you  is  all  a 
sort  of  accident,  but  we  would  be  foolish  not  to  profit  by  it.  You 
know  very  well  that  in  ordinary  times  I  couldn't  earn  half  what  you 
do.  But  the  war — and  all.  If  nearly  every  man  in  our  office  hadn't 
enlisted  or  been  drafted,  I  should  be  getting  a  quarter  of  what  I  am. 
But  they  had  to  have  somebody.  I  needed  something  to  do  to  keep 
my  loneliness  at  arm's  length.  I  applied  for  the  position,  I  got  it, 
and  I — I  was  lucky  enough  to  make  good.  It's  no  reflection  on  you. 

CARTER — It  is  a  reflection  on  me.  Would  you  like  to  be  told 
that  your  wife  was  the  best  man  in  the  family? 

MARY — I  could  stand  to  be  told  a  lot  for  four  thousand  dollars 
a  year — when  I  knew  it  was  not  so. 

CARTER — Well  I  can't  and  shan't.     You  quit  tomorrow. 

MARY — (Angered  at  last)  I'll  quit  when  I'm  good  and  ready. 
I've  a  right  to  work  if  I  wish.  I'm  your  wife,  but  you  don't  own 
me.  I've  some  rights.  There's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  help  out 
when  I  can,  and  I'm  going  to.  When  there's  a  chance  to  save  a  lot 
of  money  and  get  into  a  position  where  we're  safe,  I  have  a  right 
to  insist  that  we  profit  by  it,  and  I'm  going  to  insist.  (Stopping 
suddenly]  Oh,  Carter,  here  we  are  quarreling  like  two  children 
and  Mr.  Sears  will  be  here  any  moment.  I've  invited  him  to  dinner. 
Come  let's  dress  for  dinner  and  when  we've  both  cooled  off  I'll 
tell  you  about  a  wonderful  opportunity  and  we'll  talk  it  over 
quietly. 

CARTER — (Raging]  By  heavens,  we  won't  wait.  We'll  settle 
this  thing  now — now.  Do  you  understand  that? 

MARY — (Coldly)  It  isn't  necessary  for  all  the  neighbors  to  hear 
you. 

CARTER — (Sneeringly)  You're  mighty  careful  of  the  neighbors. 
What  the  devil  do  I  care  about  a  few  neighbors  when  the  whole  town 
is  talking  about  me?  I've  heard  nothing  else  all  day.  (Strides  sav 
agely  up  and  down  the  room)  I've  had  enough.  I'm  through.  I've 
pleaded  and  begged  you  to  act  the  way  a  wife  ought  to,  and  you've 
refused;  now  I'm  going  to  tell  you.  I'm  your  husband  and  what  I 
say  goes. 

MARY — (Holding  herself  in  check)  Carter,  go  and  get  ready 
for  dinner.  Mr.  Sears  will  be  here  any  moment.  When  you  are 
reasonable  we'll  talk. 

CARTER — We'll  talk  now.  This  thing  is  going  to  be  settled 
before  1  move  from  this  spot.  You're  my  wife — anyhow  I  thought 
you  were.  I've  tried  to  be  a  decent  sort  of  husband,  even  if  I 
haven't  been  able  to  buy  you  expensive  pictures  with  which  you've 
adorned  the  walls  since  1  left  for  France.  1  won't  be  treated  like 
this.  I  won't  stand  it.  An  old  friend  tells  me  you're  the  best  man 
in  the  family ;  an  old  hen  stenographer  in  the  office  twits  me  that 
you  can  earn  more  than  I  do.  All  my  friends  grin  and  tell  me 
what  a  soft  snap  I  have.  How  would  you  like  that?  Would  you 
stand  it? 

—5— 


MARY — Nobody  thinks  anything  disagreeable,  Carter.  You're 
unnaturally  sensitive.  Try  to  look  at  this  sensibly.  There  isn't  a 
man  who  has  spoken  to  you  who  doesn't  wish  his  wife  were  doing 
what  I'm  doing.  Nobody's  twitted  you. 

CARTER — (Roughly}  What  I  want  to  know  is,  what  are  you 
going  to  do? 

MARY — (Coldly  calm) — I'm  not  going  to  talk  about  it  while 
you're  in  this  state  of  mind. 

CARTER — You're  mighty  independent.  Four  thousand  dollars  a 
year  makes  for  a  lot  of  independence,  doesn't  it?  You  don't  need 
me  any  more  with  my  piker's  salary.  You'd  just  as  soon  I  cleared 
out,  I  suppose. 

MARY — (Distinctly,  and  with  intention.  There  are  limits  to 
even  a  woman's  endurance.) — I  don't  know  but  I'd  rather,  if  you're 
going  to  act  this  way. 

CARTER — Are  you  going  to  quit  that  job? 

MARY — No. 

CARTER —  ( Threateningly )    Mary ! 

MARY — (With  chill  in  her  voice)  If  you're  going  to  have  dinner, 
please  dress. 

CARTER — You're  not  going  to  obey — ? 

MARY — (Turning  on  him  furiously)  Obey!  I'm  going  to  do  ex 
actly  as  I  want  to.  Obey!  Do  you  think  you  can  order  me  about 
like  a  servant?  I've  had  all  I  can  stand  of  this.  Either  be  quiet 
and  dress  for  dinner,  or  I'm  going  to  leave  this  room. 

CARTER — (Bellows)  Are  you  going  to  quit  that  job? 

MARY — I'm  going  to  keep  my  position  as  long  as  I  can  hold  it. 
Now  you  know.  And  that's  final.  (She  brushes*past  CARTER  and  out 
the  door  at  left,  banging  it  behind  her.  CARTER  starts  toward  door, 
turns  furiously  and  paces  up  and  down  the  room,  frowning  and  biting 
his  lips.  At  last  stands  in  front  of  fireplace  with  his  back  to  center 
door. 

MAID — (Enters  at  the  back  to  announce)  Mr.  Sears.  (CARTER 
turns.  MR.  SEARS  enters  through  center  door.  He  is  a  genial  old 
man  in  the  neighborhood  of  sixty  years;  rather  stocky  in  stature, 
with  hair  and  mustache  well  grayed.  He  wears  a  dark  gray  business 
suit.  He  strides  up  to  CARTER  and  seizes  his  hand,  holding  and  shak 
ing  it  through  the  next  two  speeches.) 

SEARS — Well,  Carter,  my  boy,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  safely  back. 

CARTER — (Pulling  himself  together  and  shaking  hands)  Thank 
you.  I'm  glad  to  be  back,  of  course. 

SEARS — We're  all  proud  of  the  way  you  helped  clean  up  on  the 
Kaiser.  (He  sits  in  the  chair  by  the  table;  CARTER  sits  on  the  lower 
end  of  the  davenport)  Bless  my  soul,  when  you  were  a  kid  I  never 
thought  I'd  see  the  day  you'd  be  leading  a  comp'ny  of  soldiers  to 
France ! 


CARTER — (Rapidly  thawing  in  the  warmth  of  his  old  friend's 
reminiscent  mood]  To  tell  the  truth,  I  never  thought  I  would 
myself. 

SEARS — (Rather  quieter]  By  gracious!  The  day  you  left  I'd  have 
given  anything  if  your  dad  and  mother  had  been  living,  to  see  you. 

CARTER — Dad  was  a  great  lover  of  the  army. 

SEARS — Well,  I  should  say  so!  You  weren't  any  more  than  a 
yard  high  when  he  bought  you  a  wooden  sword  and  a  pop-gun.  Your 
mother  used  to  be  scared  to  death  you'd  hurt  yourself  with  'em, 
but  your  dad  would  watch  you  by  the  hour  marching  up  and  down 
and  around,  playing  soldier. 

CARTER — Well,  there  wasn't  much  playing  at  soldier  this  time, 
I'll  tell  you. 

SEARS — I'll  wager  not!  But  Jove!  I  wish  I'd  been  twenty  years 
younger.  And  Sally  said,  when  you  went,  she  wished  she  was  in 
Mary's  place.  There's  nothing  of  the  slacker  about  Sally  either. 

CARTER — I  hear  she  was  in  charge  of  a  good  deal  of  our  Red 
Cross  work  all  during  the  war. 

SEARS — (Affectionately}  Yes;  lind  I  don't  know  how  many- 
refugee  garments  she's  made  with  her  own  hands. 

CARTER — She's  a  wonderful  woman. 

SEARS — She  is  that.  And  you've  got  a  wife  just  like  her.  I'll 
wager  you're  glad  to  get  back  to  the  little  lady.  My  boy,  she  was 
a  wonder  while  you  were  gone! 

CARTER — (Moves  uneasily,  as  though  about  to  be  touched  on  a 
tender  spot.}  Yes. 

SEARS — She's  a  wife  to  be  proud  of ;  she's  the  best  little  business 
woman  I  know.  By  gracious,  Carter,  between  you  and  me,  a  wife 
like  that  is  a  man's  greatest  asset.  My  wife  was  just  like  her.  We 
married  on  nothing.  I  was  a  grocer's  clerk  and  she  was  a  dress 
maker. 

CARTER — (Astonished.)     Mrs.  Sears  a  dressmaker! 

SEARS — (Solemnly.)  A  dress  maker.  We  made  a  partnership 
of  it  for  the  first  few  years,  both  of  our  backs  to  the  wheel.  You 
see,  we  knew  it  wouldn't  do  to  have  children  if  we  were  going  to 
be  grubbing  along  all  our  lives,  so  the  quickest  way  to  make  a  home 
was  for  both  of  us  to  work  together.  We  saved  enough  so,  at 
twenty-five,  I  could  start  a  tiny  grocery  in  a  country  town.  She 
helped.  Every  cent  she  made  we  saved,  and  when  the  store  was 
started  she  kept  the  books  and  worked  behind  the  counter  on  Satur 
days.  When  our  children  came  we  had  enough  money  to  surround 
them  with  the  beautiful  things  of  life,  our  home  was  perfectly  har 
monious,  my  wife  was  free  from  all  worry  and  anxiety  over  financial 
matters;  she  was  fret-  to  expend  her  time  on  the  training  and  edu 
cation  of  her  children.  Those  years  we  worked  together  seemed 
the  most  worth-white  years  of  our  life.  Those  were  different  days — 
in  those  days  marriage  was  a  real  partnership,  and  both  parties  gave 

—7— 


to  it  all  they  had.  It  seems  to  be  different  now.  It  does  my  heart 
good  to  see  you  two  young  folks  pulling  together  so  well. 

(Carter  winces  at  the  last  few  sentences  of  this  speech.} 

CARTER — Your  wife  a  dressmaker  and  keeping  books  in  a  coun 
try  store.  Well,  sir,  one  would  never  believe  it  to  look  at  her  now, 
a  leader  in  society,  always — 

SEARS — Yes,  sir,  it's  a  fact;  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  her  I'd 
never  been  what  I  am  today.  It  wasn't  her  savings  alone,  but  the 
force  she  put  behind  me.  She  made  me  succeed,  and  it  looks  to  me 
as  if  your  wife  were  the  same  sort. 

CARTER — (Weakly.}  Times  have  changed  though.  I'm  twitted 
about  my  wife  working. 

SEARS — By  imbeciles!  I  know  it  irks  a  little.  It  irked  me  to 
have  my  wife  making  dresses.  But  who  cares  for  that  today? 
The  trouble  with  so  many  youngsters  is  that  today  is  so  darn  im 
portant.  It  amounts  to  nothing.  The  day  that  counts  is  ten  years 
off.  (Breaking  off}  Well,  well,  I  suppose  I  might  get  down  to 
business.  Of  course  your  wife  has  told  you  all  about  my  proposition, 
but  as  she  was  kind  enough  to  invite  me  for  dinner,  I  thought  I 
could  go  over  it  with  you  myself  just  to  clear  any  little  details. 

CARTER — (Bewilder edj  uncomprehending,  but  ashamed  to  (live 
himself  away)  Er — oh,  yes,  certainly. 

SEARS — (Getting  papers  from  his  inside  pockets)  What's  your 
opinion  of  it? 

CARTER — (Fighting  confusion}  Why — I  think —  the — yes — so 
far  as  I  have  thought  it  over,  we  think  it's — all  that  anyone  could 
ask  for — 

SEARS — (He  looks  at  the  papers,  and  we  see  that  he  is  near 
sighted — fortunately  for  CARTER)  Rate  of  interest  suits  you  all 
right  ? 

CARTER — Yes — oh  yes — Mary,  thinks  so  too! 

SEARS — (Chuc'kling}  Your  wife  certainly  was  on  the  job.  She 
may  not  have  mentioned  this  (speaking  confidentially  to  CARTER) 
but  it  wasn't  five  minutes  after  the  wire  came  telling  of  Wethrell's 
death  till  she  was  in  her  boss's  office  asking  him  if  you  could  have 
his  agency  for  their  cars. 

CARTER — (Feeling  his  way  carefully}  It's  a  pretty  good  posi 
tion,  isn't  it — 

SEARS — Good  position !  Say,  Wetherell's  profits  last  year  were 
upward  of  $15,000. 

CARTER — That's  a  lot  of  money,  isn't  it — 

SEARS — -It  surely  is,  my  boy,  and  Buffalo  isn't  so  far  from  New 
York,  you  know.  Mrs.  Pay  an  can  run  down  and  spend  every  week 
end  with  you.  And  even  then  it  won't  be  so  very  long  until  you 
get  the  note  reduced  to  $5,000,  so  that  she  can  give  up  her  position 
and  you'll  be  together  again — and  on  easy  street. 

CARTER — (Startled,  afresh  but  resolved  nut  to  (jive  up  the  ship) 
Yes — the  note — er — 

—8— 


SEARS — It's  the  best  I  can  do.  You  see,  as  your  wife  told  you, 
it  takes  $10,000  to  swing  the  deal,  and  we  have  to  have  some  security 
on  loaned  money.  Your  wife  thought  the  terms  were  fair  enough. 
We  lend  you  $10,000  on  your  note  provided  she  holds  her  position 
until  the  note  is  reduced  to  $5,000,  and  your  business  has  proved  a 
success.  And  you'll  make  a  success  of  it,  I've  no  doubt.  Mrs. 
Payan's  salary  will  provide  living  expenses  and  there  will  still  be 
plenty  to  pay  up  on  the  note  regularly.  You'll  have  all  your  time  to 
make  good  in  the  new  field  and  in  a  few  years  you  should  be  in 
dependent. 

CARTER — It  sounds  good. 

SEARS — It  is  good,  boy.  Take  it.  I'm  loaning  this  money  on 
two  grounds — your  excellent  reputation  for  industry  and  honesty, 
and  your  wife's  influence.  If  you  will  let  her,  young  man,  she  will 
make  you  as  my  wife  made  me. 

CARTER- — But  I  hate  to  think  of  my  wife  providing  for  the 
family. 

SEARS — My  dear  boy,  while  you  are  thinking,  remember  that  a 
family  consists  primarily  of  two  persons,  husband  and  wife.  Re 
member  that  it  is  the  duty — the  plain,  unvarnished  duty  of  each  to 
contribute  all  he  has  to  the  whole.  You  cannot  think  as  individuals, 
but  as  a  unit.  One  for  all  and  all  for  one,  as  Dumas  has  it. 

CARTER — Mr.  Sears,  I'll  have  to  confess  that  I  have  been  think 
ing  more  lately  of  all  for  one  and  nothing  for  the  whole!  You  ex 
pressed  a  wonderful  conception  of  the  family  just  now.  It's  honest, 
and  sound,  (musingly)  The  family.  (Rousing  himself)  Mr.  Sears, 
I'll  call  my  wife  to  endorse  that  note. 

SEARS — Fine! 

CARTER — (Goes1  to  center  door  and  calls.)  Mary!  Mr.  Sears 
is  here.  (MARY  appears  dressed  for  dinner  and  goes  to  greet  MR. 
SEARS.) 

MARY — (Graciously.)  Do  pardon  my  rudeness  in  not  being 
here  to  greet  you  when  you  arrived.  I  arrived  home  rather  late 
this  evening.  Will  you  accept  that  as  an  excuse  for  my  tardiness? 

SEARS — (Heartily)  No  excuse  is  needed,  Mrs.  Payan.  For  a 
few  moments  I  was  afraid  Carter  was  loathe  to  become  a  million 
aire,  so  I've  just  been  pointing  out  a  few  of  the  advantages  of  his 
new  position. 

MARY — (Glancing  furtively  at  CARTER.)     Oh. 

CARTER — (Going  to  MARY  and  gazing  at  her  humbly  and  be 
seechingly.)  Yes,  Mary,  and  he's  been  telling  me  about  his  wife  who 
was  almost  as  wonderful  as  you  are,  dear.  Mary,  will  you  endorse 
this  note — now? 

M  ARY — (Happily.)  Really,  Carter?  Oh,  indeed  I  will!  (She 
signs  the  note.)  Carter,  I'm  so  proud  of  you! 

CARTER — Mary,  I've  learned  to  appreciate  you.  But  I'm  not 
proud  of  you.  You  musn't  be  proud  of  me  either.  What  we've  got 

—9— 


to  do  is  to  proud  of  us.  I've  waked  up.  There  isn't  such  a  thing  as 
you  or  I.  There's  just  the  family. 

SEARS — That's  the  idea. 

MARY — (With  shining  eyes,  going  to  CARTER.)  I  just  love  the 
family. 

CURTAIN. 


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